


Unchecked

by AZ-5 (elim_garak), elim_garak



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Camaraderie, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-09 22:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/pseuds/AZ-5, https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/pseuds/elim_garak
Summary: Seconds. Is all it takes.He stands there, a menacing presence of the senior party official in the courtroom. All eyes fixed on him. Waiting. Even the air, every molecule, every bullet of uranium 235 - still.He lets out a long, drawn out breath, until his lungs feel on fire, the coolant drained from a nuclear core.There’s nothing but void now. And xenon. And the truth - the raw power awakening on the bottom: stretching, stirring, probing. Unchecked.





	Unchecked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NikitaSunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikitaSunshine/gifts).



> Takes place during the trial at Chernobyl, covering the 3 seconds between the time Shcherbina stands up barking at them to let Legasov finish, obviously fully aware of what's to follow, and the time he sits back down as the bomb of the truth starts ticking.

“Let him finish,” he roars. 

And the voices die out. The room, the air, every bullet of uranium 235 - still. 

In an instant, all their eyes are on him. 

He can feel it; smell it. So can they. The truth. Like a nuclear fission reaction at 200 megawatts. Suffocated by xenon, drowned in coolant. Brewing. Dormant. Waiting.

Across the room his eyes lock with Valery’s. 

_You fool. You will die for this. Or worse._

The judge leans forward. “Comrade Scherbina—”

Valery blinks. 

_“...everything we asked for. Everything we needed...”_

Not this. For God’s sake, Valera... Boron, sand, helicopters, fucking lunar rovers - anything but _this._

_You will die for this. You brave stubborn fool. Do you hear me? You will die for this._

For a brief moment he can see every muscle on Valery’s face twitch as his stunned expression is replaced by a volatile stir of resignation, resolve and remorse. 

_There are worse things than dying, Boris._

There’s living. Waking up every morning for the rest of what’s left of your inconsequential life in the shadow of paths not taken. Truths untold.

His eyes leave Valery’s to scan the room.

_“...congregation of obedient fools.”_

There's a shiver down his spine as if the temperature in the room suddenly dropped below freezing. 

The time slows down. 

In his mind, the world is no longer made of matter but of something more abstract; more powerful. Something he’s been seeking his whole life, the entire span of his shady existence, climbing the ladder, stepping on bodies, maintaining connections, gaining power. Something that all of it, inevitably, boils down to.

In his mind, because the world is no longer made of matter, he’s able to reach beyond the enormous lid of the RBMK reactor. 

Valery's eyes again. Concerned, vulnerable. Pleading.

He shouldn't be.

_“...everything we asked for…”_

_Ask._

_You brave stubborn fool._

_Ask._

He takes a deep breath. As deep as he can without igniting his lungs with an urge to cough. He's got it down to an art now. Almost.

In his mind, his hand under the lid of an RBMK reactor closes around the control rods. All of them. Because in his mind - he can. 

His eyes flicker across the room one more time. 

_“...they mistakenly sent the one good man.”_

One.

A number. Is all it is. 

_“Boris, you were the one who mattered the most.”_

Did he?

Everything he did, everything _they_ did, in the end, did it matter? If they dump it all in the ground, bury it: the bodies, the animals… the truth… does it matter? Will it matter? In two years? In two decades, when another reactor blows, will it matter?

In his mind, his fist tightens around two hundred and five control rods. All at once. 

205.

A number.

But more.

Because, in the end, they are all that remains, all that matters. What the world is _really_ made of. Numbers.

10- Years. Of hoping. Of fooling themselves. While continuing to use a faulty design.

10- Hours. Of using the reactor at half capacity. 

700- Megawatts.

200- Megawatts.

3,200- Megawatts.

33-fucking- _thousand_ \- Megawatts.

3 MILLION BILLION TRILLION- Bullets. In the air we breathe. The food we eat.

100- Years. Maybe longer.

50,000 - Years. For some.

3.6- Roentgen.

400- Chest x-rays. An hour. 

15,000- Roentgen. 

2- Hiroshima bombs. An hour.

40- Hiroshima bombs. By now. 

48- Hiroshima bombs more tomorrow. And it will not stop. Not in a week. Not in a month.

5,000- Tons of sand and boron.

2-to-4 - Megatons.

60,000,000- People.

100- Years. Maybe longer.

24,000- Years. To full containment. 

Seconds. Is all it takes. 

He stands there, a menacing presence of the senior party official in the courtroom. All eyes fixed on him. Waiting. Even the air, every molecule, every bullet of uranium 235 - still. 

He lets out a long, drawn out breath, until his lungs feel on fire, the coolant drained from a nuclear core.

There’s nothing but void now. And xenon. And the truth - the raw power awakening on the bottom: stretching, stirring, probing. Unchecked.

Finally. Unchecked.

"Let him finish,” he breathes, a mere whisper, before quietly sitting back down.

In his mind, his fist spasms around the control rods. All two hundred and five of them. Graphite tips exposed. Ready.

Across the room, his eyes lock with Valery’s.

AZ-5.

**Author's Note:**

> NS- Thank you...


End file.
